Page 70 of Bride of the Fae Prince

“Stay safe yourself, Highness,” the woman responds with a warm smile. “And take care of your sweet wife.”

“With my life,” he replies, laying a warm hand on my low back and escorting me out of the hut. He ducks beneath the lintel.

He closes the door behind us. There’s a strange sort of round roof over—oh.I nearly pass out again as I realize the awning isn’t an awning at all, but the gilled underside of a white-spotted red mushroom. I blink, glancing around to find more people like myself, mingling with . . .mice? They walk upright on their hind legs with tails and everything. They’re clothed, with eyes much more intelligent than a mere rodent’s, and all around are different shapes and varieties of mushroom houses. Their gates are made of chopped pine needles, and I stare agape at the mushroom cap wheels on a cart as it rolls by us. It’s a whole bustlingtownof tiny people!

“What is this place?” I blurt, awe filling my voice.

“This is Mithral,” replies the prince with an uncharacteristically serious expression. “One of the Small Cities.They’re built by the Mips—the mouse people—but most of the free humans who live in Faerie have taken shelter here. The High King doesn’t know. He knows about the cities, that is. Just not that humans hide here. It makes them a rather ideal place to keep my more at-risk staff and their families, and it’s also where I find most of my human staff.”

He eyes me, and a few different things flash through his gaze. I try to catch hold of them, but they’re gone too quickly.

“How long have they been hiding here?” I ask.

“A little under two hundred years.”

The way he says that . . . I peer up at him. He glances down at me, blinks, quickly looks away. That look confirms it.

He’s the one who started hiding humans here.

“Well!” Ash says brusquely. “This day is certainly getting away from us, isn’t it? Come, come, we mustn’t be late for the feast tonight. The tailor should have delivered your gown by the time we get back.”

With that and nothing else, he takes my hand and pulls me after him. We move briskly through the dirt street, framed by blades of grass tall enough to be trees. I’m forced to dodge around the ruts left behind by acorn wheels.

As we go, a mouse on the other side of the street tips his top hat at Ash. A lady mouse in a pink calico frock and lace-trimmed apron curtsies. A few humans, standing in a group, elbow each other and point—only to bow deeply when Ash spots them. He gives nods and warm smiles to all of them. I gape like a codfish, stumbling along behind him.

They love him. They love him, and they revere him. It’s a completely different reception compared to the High King’s throne room that pulsed with fear.

A sudden shout goes up behind us. I look over my shoulder as a man who looks to be about forty barrels toward us, desperation ringing his eyes.

“My lord! Prince Trenian!”

Ash stops, looks back. He pulls me to his side, keeping his hold on my hand. The man falls to his knees before Ash, and Ash looks down at him with that uncharacteristically serious expression.

“Prince Trenian!” the man gasps, panting for air.

“What is your name?”

“Andrews, my lord. Milton Andrews.”

“What may I do for you, Andrews?”

“It’s my daughter, Highness! Princess Listhra has just bought her years of service, and we all fear for her life.”

Ash gives an acknowledging grunt, apparently well-aware of the princess’ reputation. “You wish for me to buy her into my service?”

“Yes, my lord—but in exchange, I would give twice her years of service myself. Would you accept this bargain?”

Ash says nothing, his brow creasing as though he is deep in thought. “I have no openings on my staff, I’m afraid.”

“Then I would give thrice the years of service, to be fulfilled by anyone of my line, at any time of your choosing. If you would but purchase my daughter back.”

“Very well, I will bargain with you, but only for twice the years. My steward will be in touch with you over the next few days to finalize the bargain. You know the risks, but it’s one of my policies to detail you in full.”

The man clasps his hands together. “Thank you, my lord! Thank you!”

Ash’s grip tightens on my hand, and then he’s helping me up a hill that must be hardly a bump in the ground. I pant as we reach the top, struggling to maintain my decorum as I press my free hand to my chest.

“Ash?” I ask.

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